Poem of anticipatory grief

The earliest bird will sing its awareness

as sunrise bleeds soft gold onto the dew damp grass.

Potted flowers will turn in attention

as it begins - 

water pipes whistle, horns cry, truck tires squeal, 

and the first child runs headlong toward the curb

as the mother’s voice is lost in the hum of sound.

That day will come

and there will be no possibility of hearing your voice.

I can not call on the phone.

I can not show up at your door.

No letter will be read.

No message received.

I will sit with my words.

I will sit with my thoughts.

I will sit with my heart broken

in the haze that only 

the light of your friendship

ever dispelled.

Poems of Joy....are far too few....maybe I'll start a collection with this one by Ed Hirsch

Happiness Writes White

I am a piece of chalk
scrawling words on an empty blackboard.

I am a banner of smoke
that crosses the blue air and doesn't dissolve.

I don't believe that only sorrow
and misery can be written.

Happiness, too, can be precise:

Doctor, there's a keen throbbing
on the left side of my chest
where my ribs are wrenched by joy.

Wings flutter in my shoulders
and blood courses through my body
like waves cresting on a choppy sea.

Look: the eyes blur with tears
and the tears clear.

My head is like skylight.
My heart is like dawn.